


Incognito

by PsychGirl (snycock)



Series: Incognito [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Pre-Slash, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snycock/pseuds/PsychGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's torn between what he wants and what he thinks he can't have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incognito

## Incognito

#### by PsychGirl

Author's website: <http://snycock.livejournal.com>  
  
Written for Sentinel Thursday challenge #241 - trust.  
Warning: UST

* * *

Jim leaves the loft thirty minutes after Blair. Long enough that it won't be obvious that he's following Blair; short enough that he won't miss anything. He takes a left, though, where Blair would take a right, and parks in back of the small, newly refurbished office building. "Cascade's Downtown Rennaisance!" trumpet the banners on the lampposts, and Jim smiles grimly. No rebirth here, not for him.

He climbs the stairs carefully, steadily, feeling the anticipation start to build in his body. Every week the ritual is the same. When he reaches the landing, it's deserted, and he moves across the hall to the office door. No name, no title, which is exactly how he wants it. Incognito.

The key slides into the lock and he opens the door quietly, although he knows, without even having to think about it very hard, that he's alone in the building today. It's Saturday; not many people working on the weekend.

He crosses the room and focuses his sight on the building across the street. Blair's got his usual spot, right in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. His heart leaps as he notices that the pane is cranked open. Of course. It's one of Cascade's rare sunny days, and Blair loves the fresh air.

The office he's in is bare except for one wooden slat-back chair, positioned in front of the window. He sits, leaning forward to lift the sash slightly, twitching the curtains closed so that there's just a slim gap between them. He doesn't need much more than that.

The class has started and he sits back in the chair, inhaling, listening, watching. The first few minutes are always meditation and breathing, and a little chanting, and he takes this opportunity to find Blair, to hone in on him, to filter out the thousand other little noises and sights and smells.

It isn't hard; it never is, and by the time they're going into the sun salutes he's totally focused on Blair, totally... well, zoned wouldn't be the right word. It's not just one sense he uses, it's all of them - well, except for taste.

Blair's going into downward-facing dog, rear stretched up high in the air, and Jim sighs, and unsnaps the button of his jeans, draws the zipper down slowly. He can smell Blair; hear him grunt and sigh and exhale mindfully and with purpose; and see him, the muscles sliding smoothly under the olive skin, the sweat darkening the hair at the back of his neck. Jim works his dick, stiff and aching, out of the slit in his boxers and touches it lightly, slowly. He's got to make this last an hour, after all.

With his senses this open, it's like he's swimming in Blair, drowning in Blair, and he strokes himself, imagining it's Blair's hand on him, tender, hard; imagining the hot, smooth skin under his fingers is Blair's.

He sets a measured pace, knowing the order and the cadence of the poses by heart now, losing himself in the familiar routine. Before he knows it they've moved into the advanced asanas, and Blair is head-over-heels in the plow, his knees by his face, his breathing coming in little bursts as his diaphragm is compressed.

And all Jim can think about is how good they could be, would be, should be. All he can think about is having Blair in his bed, his legs pushed up, and him sinking into Blair, thrusting deep inside him, driving Blair wild with passion, Blair gasping, saying his name, sweaty and strong and wonderful; oh, what they could do, how good it could be. The images in his head make him groan, his grip tightening, his hand speeding up, his thumb pressing down roughly on the sensitive head. He knows Blair's interested; he's caught a whiff of pheromones off him more than once.

But it's never going to happen. How could it? Blair could never trust him, not after he kicked him out, not after he accused him, threw those words in his face like a slap. _I need a partner I can trust_. Not after he accused him of selling out, of betraying him.

And he'll do it again. He knows he will. Blair was right about that, anyway. He's a coward at heart, and he strikes out when he feels cornered, when he feels afraid. And there's nothing that frightens him more than the thought of losing Blair.

He watches as Blair swings up into a headstand, the teacher steadying him, the musk of sweat so powerful now he can almost taste it. He can see where Blair's t-shirt is damp all down his spine. The teacher lets go, and Blair wavers, but stays up, and he's laughing, and it's that bright, joyful sound that drives Jim over the edge to completion.

Blair's laugh is still ringing in his ears as he sprawls in the chair, breathing heavy, reining his senses in, watching as Blair carefully lowers his legs and rolls up into a lotus position, his hands pressed together in the center of his chest.

By the time the class is bowing and murmuring, "Namaste", Jim has cleaned himself up, closed the window, and left the office, making sure to lock the door behind him. He exits - from the front of the building this time - and makes his way across the street, leans against the wall next to the door of the yoga studio, waiting.

It's only a few minutes before Blair bursts out, his mat in a bag slung over his shoulder. He grins widely when he sees Jim. "Hey, man," he says cheerfully, "how about The River Cafe today? I've got a hankering for pancakes."

"Sounds good, Chief," Jim says easily, and they walk down the street, Blair talking a mile a minute, explaining to Jim how he managed to do a headstand today for the first time. And Jim shoves his hands in his pockets, hard, so he won't be tempted to touch Blair. _This is all you're gonna get_ , he tells himself firmly, _and it's more than you deserve_.

* * *

End

Incognito by PsychGirl  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.


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